


Take Me To Church

by westandvigilant



Series: until the Earth is free [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Smut, over emotional inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westandvigilant/pseuds/westandvigilant
Summary: Cullen decides to break it off with the Inquisitor.Eventual happy ending. But a lot of dramatic shit first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I've decided to try another chaptered fic. I just kind of realized that EVERY TIME I was trying to write Elin and Cullen's story, THIS was the part I was trying to get to. So this might feel a little jarring, but it is pretty much right in the middle of their story.

The returning forces had churned the courtyard into slop. Boots dragged through the wet fall mud, trampling dead leaves and morning frost into a thick mulch with startling uniformity despite the battle weary soldiers who wore them. The early sun caught along the scuffed sea of helmets and lit them with a dull glow.

Well, not really a sea of helmets, Cullen thought, watching the return from the rear with the Inquisitor’s companions. Not anymore.

Their losses at Adamant were minimal and mostly relegated to the vanguard, he knew. The bulk of the forces which were still moving toward Skyhold were still well populated. But it still caught in his throat to see how his proud, hand-picked van had turned into a hang dog trickle of broken soldiers. Even with the Grey Wardens folded into their ranks.

“It's good to be back,” Elin mused. She glided next to him on her horse to give him soft smile. A knowing smile. Sympathy was mixed into the fatigue etched between her brows. The purple circles under her eyes were even deeper than the day before.

Cullen grunted his response. It wasn’t until Elin’s eyes fell upon his hands that he realized the white knuckle grip he had upon the reins. She dropped her reins and placed a dainty palm on his wrist. How she mustered the compassion to worry about him when she felt the loss of Hawke so immediately was beyond him.

He tried to ignore the acrid Fade smell that still wafted from her skin.

The sun crested higher, washing the whole scene in a dreamy pastel pink. The peaks of the fortress were fuzzy in the morning fog. It was too perfect, too surreal to follow the battle they had just been through.

“Well, I, for one, am looking forward to a nice hot bath.” Elin peeked at Cullen through her eyelashes. “It might be nice to have some company,” she added quietly.

Her words were suggestive, but her tone was more simple. It was evident that she needed him. His reassurance. His presence. His love. While he mourned the nature of war, she struggled with Scarlett Hawke’s ghost.

Finally, Cullen moved a hand to cover hers. “I’ll need to get a few things from my room. But after that, my dear, nothing with stop me.”

“Why don't you just pick up everything? Make my room into your room and be done with it,” Elin said, surprised at her own directness. She had finally said aloud what they had been dancing around for months.

“That would be rather convenient, wouldn’t it?”

\---

He did not pick up everything when he stopped in his room. He thought about it. He wanted to. Maker, how Cullen wanted nothing more than to crawl into Elin’s arms and never leave, but before he could even start up the ladder he saw the stack of reports at his desk.

And he thought, quite innocently, that he really should outline his report on the battle while it was fresh in his mind.

It was, after all, his job.

It really wasn’t until she walked into his office that he realized he had been sitting at his desk for hours writing out a full debrief.

He was trying to decide whether or not to add that Warden Alistair set out for Weisshaupt after he heard news of his wife when she glided into the room with wet hair and dewy skin. The quill fell from his hand. “Oh, Maker. Elin, I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said with a sigh. He believed her, the girl didn’t have it within her to lie, but he could feel the disappointment in her voice. See it in the bend of her neck as she crossed the room and eased into a chair. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap.

There was always something proper about Elin, even when she put no effort into her looks. She was dressed simply, just a belted linen dress sticking to her slick skin. Her short hair was brushed back from her freckled face. You could hardly tell that she had literally fought through the Fade and back, save for a bruise under her right eye.

Dust danced in sharp shafts of afternoon sun streaming through the office. A stiff breeze brought in a round of triumphant cheers from the courtyard. Skyhold would be alive with celebration that night.

“Let me accompany you to the tavern tonight,” he offered with a measured breath. “I would like to go. I, um… I like to do that, when I’m feeling like this. It does me good to see what we’ve accomplished.”

“Does it really?” She was lost in her own voice. It was time to bring her back.

Cullen let out as light a chuckle as he could muster and picked up his quill again, turning his eyes to his now nearly completed report. “Sometimes,” he answered, scratching out a few more words. “Sometimes I just need to get drunk and spend an evening between a beautiful woman’s legs.”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence before being pelted with a small paperback book. It glanced off his elbow and Cullen laughed with unbridled amusement. He could feel her disapproving glare.

“You’re crude, Cullen Rutherford,” she pouted. But the barest hint of amusement colored the words. The vice grip released ever so slightly on his lungs.

“Right,” he agreed, clearing his throat and settling in to write again. “My apologies. I don’t need to get drunk for that. In fact,” a bit of steel wove into his voice, “why don’t you show me. Right now.”

Cullen continued writing, focusing intently on ensuring that each word coherently followed the last. Her gasp was soft enough that he could barely hear it over the tight score of his quill against the parchment. But what he could hear, what he was dying to hear, was the creak of the chair as she shifted her weight. The rustle of her dress as she began to pull it over her knees.

She was always so good at following orders.

Should Elin deal with the memory of Adamant? Yes. But right now? Right now, he thought she needed to forget.

Hell, they both needed to.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his gaze. And, Maker, she was a sight. Her legs were long, smooth and open. For him. Inch by inch she dragged the dress up her skin, first revealing her delicate ankles and then her slender calves. Inch by inch. Up and up. It was excruciating. The distance across the room was nearly painful. He had to restrain himself from hurdling the desk.

He enjoyed the show for just a moment before a loud banging on the door startled them both. Elin calmly shuffled her dress back into place just as the door swung open.

The soldier was already breathless before he spoke. “Command-- Oh, Lady Inquisitor.” He clicked his heels and gave a quick, strange bow from the doorway.

“What Jim?” Cullen growled.

“Banners approaching, Commander.” Cullen and Elin shared an imperceptible glance while Jim answered the question they both had begun to ask. “It’s Starkhaven. The Prince of Starkhaven will be at the gate inside the next hour.”

\---

Jim was wrong.

Leliana had barely corralled both Elin and Cullen into the War Room for Josephine’s diplomacy prep when Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven stormed through the heavy wooden doors.

He looked different than Cullen remembered. Then again, nearly half a decade and a royal coronation could do that to a person, Cullen supposed.

His auburn hair was longer and his face was fuller. The new laugh lines bracketing his mouth were pulled into a taut grimace. His piercing blue eyes, always so kind as Kirkwall decomposed around them, were nearly lost under the furrow of his brow.

The Prince advance quickly into the room, shoulders bent with enough fury that Cullen felt the need to step in front of Elin. It had the desired effect; Sebastian halted immediately.

There was a moment - a small moment - of mutual silence as Elin and Sebastian stared at one another. An inquisitor still barefoot from bathing. A prince wearing simple riding breeches and a shirt stale with sweat.

Varric was next to barge in, his gait quick and rolling. “Sebastian,” he was growling as soon as the door opened. “Sebastian, wait-”

“Where is my wife.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

Elin’s eyes were wide. Cullen could see the words exploding through her chest, circling but far too sharp to be spoken. Her mouth hung open, noiseless until she was able to catch her breath.

“I-I d-don't kn-”

From her stammering it was clear that she expected the Prince to yell, scream. Become unhinged. What no one was prepared for, however, was the slow, dark way he interrupted her: “You don't know?”

Cullen felt the need to step in, to ease Elin’s suffering in whatever way he could. “We are unsure as to-”

Sebastian silenced Cullen with a simple wave of his hand. His eyes never left Elin’s horrified face. “No. This is between you and I. Where. Is. My. Wife.”

“She volunteered,” Elin finally blurted out. She hiccuped as tears gathered in her eyes and, hang it all, Cullen tossed aside Josephine’s orders to be _strictly professional_ in front of visiting royalty to place a hand on his lover’s shoulder. With the strength his touch gave her, she swallowed and continued. “Someone had to hold back the Nightmare and she volunteered. W-we wouldn’t have made it if not for her. We’d all be stuck in the Fade.”

Sebastian’s shoulders had not relaxed since he had entered the room. They were taut and high, tension strung tight between his shoulder blades. His eyes flicked carefully from Cullen’s hand to Elin’s vulnerable face.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” his words were broken. Unable to accept the answer clear in her response.

“Sebastian,” Varric said softly. He hadn’t looked up from the floor since the exchange had begun. He scuffed his boot against the stone floor. “Sebastian, don’t make the girl say it.”

A ruined gasp echoed around the full room. Sebastian lifted a hand to cover his mouth, screwing his eyes shut so tightly that he grunted with the effort. Turning his back to the room, he propped himself up with his free hand on the War Table, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight.

As the interim Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, Cullen had doled out his fair share of bad news. Legions of Templars had been slain. He had visited plenty of homes and told plenty of wives and husbands that their partner had left to see the Maker. He had seen plenty of wailing spouses and crying children. And every time his heart had felt a little emptier. A little more numbed.

But watching the Prince of Starkhaven crumble was some sort of horror show that even Cullen could not name.

He let his hand slide down Elin’s arm and found her trembling fingers. He gave them a firm squeeze and they met eyes. They both knew what Sebastian needed to hear and who he needed to hear it from. Elin nodded. “She’s with the Maker now.”

And then Sebastian’s knees finally gave out. Varric rushed to his side to set the swaying Prince on his feet. His shoulders finally fell and began to shudder. His broad back shook with each serrated breath, caving in and caving out. The tired fabric of his shirt flexed with the stilted contractions. Somehow, the silent sobs were worse than screaming.

Tear-thick prayers were trapped between his fingers and lips. Gradually, he twisted his body toward the table, leaning against it with both hands as he bent forward at the waist. “Maker, why?” he mumbled, turning bright blue eyes to the ceiling. “Why her? Why her and not me? Andraste preserve me...”

Sebastian took one more quaking breath and whispered, “Is this my punishment?”

Cullen had to pull Elin into his side when she lurched with a sob of her own.

Sebastian’s profile was so regal, so dignified as they watched him mourn. So picturesque as he let the tears flow unchecked over his cheeks. And so terrifying as he hammered his fist into the table.

It was a loud, resounding crack and Elin startled at the sound. Sebastian’s entire visage had changed. His blue eyes were still red rimmed, and his skin still tear stained, yes, but the rage had returned. He looked back at the Elin and her advisors, nostrils flared.

“Has- Hadn’t Thedas required enough of her, Inquisitor?” Sebastian spat, scanning everyone’s face. “Haven’t you people done enough to her? And now she’s…” He hiccuped once and looked away to regain his composure; his face was no less grim when he did. “I know Scarlett would have gone to the ends of the world for anyone, but did you have to let her?”

Elin stared on in a stunned silence, looking as though each of his words drew her blood. Cullen tightened his grip on her as Sebastian regarded them. Sebastian’s glare landed on Cullen’s stone face. Suddenly, under all the anger, Cullen recognized a tiredness. A weariness. An exhaustion.

“This will be you one day,” Sebastian stated. “This will be you.”

A blackness poured forth from Sebastian's words. It poured forth from his wounds and it found Cullen and, Maker, how it choked him.

Then without another word, the widowed Prince stalked out of the room.

The door slammed and the room exploded into chaos. Josephine began to furiously ruffle through letters and treaties. Leliana loudly conjectured with the dwarf. Elin turned into Cullen’s chest and wept, clutching at his arms and shaking with sheer bewilderment at what had just happened.

All this and Cullen couldn’t hear a thing. And how could he, with the steady, deafening sound of blood pounding through his ears?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happening.

She didn’t wake up until sweat had pooled into the valley of her lower back. Elin hadn’t even opened her eyes and yet they twitched closed even further in confusion. She was warm, hot enough that beads of sweat were pricking her shoulder blades, but she was laying atop her overly ostentatious Orlesian bed, twisted in overly sumptuous Orlesian sheets. The sounds of Skyhold difted up and around her.

Carefully, she opened her eyes and, without lifting her head, attempted to look about the room. The clear noon sun flooded the cracked stone floors. A plate of breakfast fruit laid untouched on her desk. Cullen was nowhere to be found.

“I’ve overslept,” Elin grumbled to herself. She flopped over on the bed, head still heavy with too much sleep. Stretching her arms out around her, she pieced together the previous night. Neither Elin nor Cullen felt like celebrating after being ambushed by Prince Vael. They went to her room where she had immediately fell asleep. Cullen had woken her up at some point to make uncharacteristically gentle love and now she was welcoming the day alone.

He must have thought it would be better for her to sleep. And, considering she had cried for hours yesterday but now had no headache greeting her as she sat upright, he was correct in that thought. She padded across the room to pick at the tray of fruit he must have left for her. Biting into an apple, she was allowed herself a small smile.

She would never forget the memories of Adamant, but at least Elin had a partner who understood her needs. It warmed her enough that she decided to not be upset that he hadn’t moved any more of his possessions into her room. Only a few of articles of clothing and a wet stone remained as testimony of his presence.

A round of cheers and roars wafted over her balcony from the courtyard, effectively shaking Elin from her own mind. She walked out onto the afternoon warm balcony to scan the fortress. No further signs of the Starkhaven detail remained. Elin breathed a sigh of relief, relieved that she would not have to endure the walking reminder of her choices anymore. Nor would she have to scan the ranks for familiar faces.

But, unable to see what caused the current ruckus, Elin slipped on a shift and a linen overdress to investigate. Next were her favorite traveling boots and one of Cullen’s wide belts. She might not feel put together, but she could at least look presentable.

She descended the stairs still munching on the apple, trying carefully to stay focused on the dusty smell of the stairwells, lest her mind wander to the pain-tight smile of a doomed martyr. The _thunk-thunk_ of her boots on the tired wood instead of the bright crack of fire spilling from Scarlett Hawke’s staff.

“Cousin, my dear cousin!” Elin slipped down a step at the sound of Dorian’s voice. She hadn’t even registered that he was there. He looked up at her from the foot of the spiraled stairs with pure glee upon his dusky face. “You will not _believe_ what your strapping young Templar is up to in the Courtyard! Come, before we miss the show!”

\---

The throng of onlookers was thick and boisterous. And so entranced at whatever was happening in the middle that no one noticed that the one they called “Herald of Andraste” was trying to shoulder through the crowd. A wayward elbow jutted out and sent what was left of Elin’s breakfast apple sailing through the air.

“What in the name of all that is holy is going on here, Dorian?” Elin finally shouted at her friend. She grabbed onto Dorian’s robe to stop from slipping into the mud.

Dorian, for his part, looked over his shoulder and let out his infuriatingly throaty laugh. “What?” he asked innocently, prying her hand off his robe and holding it tight. “And ruin the look on your face when you see it? Bah!” He cupped his hand over his mouth. “Make way for the Inquisitor, you heathens!”

His request was left unanswered. He dragged her through the rest of the crowd with only minimal damage. But her smashed feet were forgotten as soon as they made it to the edge of the crowd. Dorian swung her out and released her hand. Elin gasped and drew her fingers to her lips.

In the middle of the crowd, Cullen stood barechested and sweaty. The angry fist of a burn scar was clear in the center of Cullen’s back, along with the smattering of lesser scars he always said he rather not share. A line of blood rushed from a deep cut across the bridge of his nose. He had a sword and shield in hand. Just a practice sword, but it still looked deadly in his hand. Two recruits circled him. The was a third being helped off the ground by one of the healers.

Elin’s heart began to race. She knew that Cullen preferred a hands-on training method, but it had never been his own hands. A redheaded recruit tried to outflank him and received the flat side of Cullen’s sword to the gut for his effort. The second, a man much bigger than Cullen, was working on standing upright. Cullen yelled something that Elin couldn’t make out before advancing on the redhead again.

The look on Cullen’s face was determined, his jaw set and his eyes blazing. It occurred to Elin that she had never truly seen him in action, as it were, and now she was glad she hadn’t. The sight of him terrified her.

“Oh, Maker,” Elin whispered. “What is going on?”

“Games,” Dorian answered. “I think he said that he’s testing who has the mettle to join the vanguard. Why he needs to beat them with a stick in order to figure that out is beyond me, but I was only ever interested in sleeping with soldiers, not understanding them.”

“Dorian, please. This is barbaric.” She watched on as the big recruit gained enough composure to launch a poorly executed attack on Cullen. Cullen lashed out with a well placed kick that swept the big guy’s legs and sent him crashing into the ground.

“I know, darling. That might be the intent.” Dorian clapped as Cullen landed a particularly vicious blow.

“But the infantry won’t return for a few more days. Shouldn’t he promote to the van from-”

“I don’t know, Elin.” She could practically hear him roll his eyes. “Really, with the way you two carry on in bed I thought this might be, I don’t know, arousing for you.”

“Honestly, Dorian, someone is going to get hurt.” Elin gave Dorian a shove.

“Elin, dear, Cullen is more than holding his own.”

Elin shook her head, watching the big recruit shamble out of the mud in a daze. “That is not what I’m worried about.” Everyone knew the tactical, restrained Commander that Cullen had become with the Inquisition. Elin knew the beast that hid. The beast that he was.

There was a crack as Cullen, teeth-bared, met blades with the redhead. The recruit kept his own, his movements controlled and strategic, but he was no match for the steady, precise aggression of Cullen’s onslaught. Unbalanced, the redhead stumbled forward just as Cullen began to draw up his shield.

Elin could feel the imminence of Cullen belting the recruit with his shield, could feel the power with which Cullen was about to hit, and she screamed his out name. It ripped from her throat completely unbidden and she clapped her hand to her mouth in a futile to stop it.

It all happened in slow motion. Cullen turned and, to Elin’s shame and horror, looked at her. His brow tilted in momentary confusion before the big recruit drove the hilt of his sword into the side of Cullen’s skull. Cullen dropped like a dead man into the mud.

\---

“He’s going to be fine, Elin, please try to relax.” Dorian grunted as he released the Commander into his own office chair. Elin needed to thank the mage for shouldering an unconscious Cullen all the way up the battlements, but she thought she might do that later. Right now, she was too focused on the blood pouring from Cullen’s temple.

“I know, I know.” Elin placed the basin of hot water she carried at her hip on the desk. “I just feel awful. It’s my fault.”

“Well,” Dorian brushed a finger over his mustache in the way he always did when he was attempting to bite his tongue. “I suppose that is a, um, one way to describe it.”

Elin leapt up to sit on Cullen’s desk opposite him, rubbing her hands together to prepare for a healing spell. A habit she had yet to shake. As if he could feel the mana being pulled, Cullen snapped awake.

“Maker,” he gasped, startling into consciousness. His eyes darted around the room as he immediately began to even out his own breathing. It was moments like this, moments when she saw how easily he coped with these pain, that Elin hated the life he had led up to this point.

Elin reached out to place her hands on his heaving shoulders. “I’m here, Cullen,” she told him. “You’re okay… You were-”

“Yes,” he interrupted, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his forehead. After a few breaths he brought the hand down to inspect, humming when he saw the blood now coating his palm. His voice was gravely and slow as he continued, “I was testing out the new vanguard hopefuls when you-” he cleared his throat “-distracted me.”

“See,” Dorian cut in, “that’s another way to describe it!”

“Dorian!” Elin exclaimed.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Dorian held his palms up and backed toward the door. “If you aren’t going to appreciate my input, then I will leave you two alone.” Dorian inched toward the door to allow Elin ample time to request further aid. When it seemed obvious that she didn’t require the help of a necromancer to heal the Commander, he left.

Finally alone, Cullen groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, careful to mind the busted skin on its bridge. “Here, let me help,” Elin said softly. She swiped her thumb across his brow and Cullen’s eyes suddenly seemed far less hazy. The pounding in his head was no match for Elin’s healing magic.

“Thank you,” Cullen said, leaning back with a sigh. Elin watched him sheepishly as he tested out his limbs.

“So, you yelled my name and someone clocked me in the head, hm?” Cullen looked up at Elin from under his brow bone. There was almost an amused note to his voice, like being knocked unconscious in battle really wasn’t that big of a deal. Elin felt like a child being questioned about disobeying unimportant orders.

“Yeah.” She bit her lip and dipped her hand into the water basin for the cloth. “I didn’t want you to hurt that poor kid.”

“He’s hardly a kid, Elin, he’s one of the best recruits he have in Skyhold right now. Both of them are.” Elin wrung out the cloth and gingerly placed it on the skin under his wound. Cullen hissed at the contact, but closed his eyes and tilted his head to allow Elin a better angle to work at.

“Yes, right now. Why not wait for the infantry to return?”

“What if Skyhold is attacked tonight-” He hissed again as Elin worked her way to cleaning the actual gash at his temple. “What would we do then?”

“Cullen,” Elin admonished. “Those men would fight regardless of their position in the army.”

Cullen took a deep breath while Elin awaited his reply. It never came. They both knew the answer. He just wanted to hit something. Elin sighed and, close to being finished wiping away the blood, cupped his jaw to move his face. Cullen slowly opened his amber eyes and caught her gaze. She tried to smile, but he sighed and pushed her hands away, turning his attention once more to the floor.

“We need to talk.”

A brick dropped into Elin’s heart. She had no idea why, but suddenly she found it hard to control her breathing. Elin withdrew her blood stained fingers and attempted to flick her bangs from her face. A typical motion made impossible by the circumstances. She went to place her hands on the desk and ended up wiping them on one of the many reports littering the surface.

"Oh, oh," she said, trying to clean the blood from the parchment. "Oh, I'm just making it worse."

"What is it," he intoned.

Elin squinted at the report. "The shards? It's about the shards."

"Unimportant, don't worry about it." He waved his hand, but still continued staring at the floor. Elin waited patiently for him to continue, painfully aware of the sound of her own breathing. Cullen licked his lips. “Elin, you know that I love you.” Her plane of vision began to tunnel. “But I don’t think we can do this any longer.”

She knew exactly what he meant. She pretended she didn’t. Instead, she gave a hollow laugh. “What? I can’t clean you up after you get your bell rung on the training grounds?”

“Maker,” Cullen said as he looked up to the ceiling like he needed the aid of prayer. He met her eyes and exhaled through his nostrils. “We cannot continue seeing each other.”

The blood soaked cloth dropped to the floor with a wet thwack. Elin began to shake her head slowly from side to side, eyebrows knitted together in abject confusion. She could feel the heat gathering in her cheeks. “Cullen, you can’t mean that.”

“Elin, be serious,” his voice was harsh and she recoiled as though physically hit. She could not believe that these words were coming from the same lips that had kissed her so tenderly just the night before. “We have responsibilities. Duties. We are obligated to the world, Elin. The world! If something were to happen to me, if something were to happen to-”

“Aren’t we stronger together?” Her tears were now flowing freely, causing the words to choke and thicken in her throat. “You’ve always said that we’re stronger together.”

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. His gaze drifted once more to the floor. “We need to focus on what’s important.”

“I’m not important?” she blurted out. She felt like her chest were caving in as she gulped for air. “Cullen, Cullen. Look at me. Look at me and tell me that I’m not important.”

He took in a steady breath and lifted his gaze. “There are more important things,” he said. They sat in silence while the words sunk into Elin's quickening heart.

Elin hung her head and cried, part of her still expecting to feel his arms around her. Some shred of her still believing that Cullen would pull her into his chest and apologize until they both forgot what happened in the first place.

That did not happen. He watched her. He watched her as she cried. He waited patiently for her to stop. When she finally felt that she had no more tears left to give, she trained her bloodshot eyes on his again. Those amber eyes looked so tired, so weary. So exhausted.

She wiped off what tears she could with her wrist. “You don’t love me?”

“That’s not the point.”

“How is that not the point?”

“I-It isn’t-” he stammered.

“You love me! What else-”

“Fine!” Cullen flung his hand out. “I don’t love you. Is that what you want? Does that make it easier?” This quieted her. His mouth hung open like he were surprised with himself. Then his gaze simply drifted away again, unable to face her after those final words.

Elin sniffed, one last tear sliding down her cheek. She reached out to touch his face only to have him capture her wrists. He held them for only a moment before releasing them again.

She reached out once more, forcefully this time, to grab his jaw with one hand and press the heel of her other palm into Cullen’s forgotten head wound with a squelch. It was nothing to heal. Elin had been healing small injuries like this since the last time she let a Templar break her heart. It made her mouth sour.

When she lifted her hand, a newly formed scab sliced into Cullen’s hairline. She released her hold with more force than strictly necessary, sending him reeling backward into the chair to right himself. Elin got off the desk and crossed the room briskly.

“Elin,” he called out as she reached the door. She stopped, but did not turn, nor did she look over her shoulder. He might have been waiting for her to show him either of these courtesies, because it took him what felt like an eternity to whisper, “Thank you.”

Elin opened the door with fingers caked in his blood and left without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm back! I just want you to know that I've always been fully committed to finishing this story, but sometimes life gets in the way. Here's another angsty chapter. I promise I'll start injecting some humor. 
> 
> Updates will still be a little slow for the time being (though obviously not as slow as before), but they will probably ramp up in Feb.

Night had finally fallen and Cullen had successfully spent a whole two days avoiding Elin. He sighed and rubbed his face in his hands. The room would have been dark if not for the one candle lit on his desk, illuminating the mountains of papers with a soft glow. A creak filled the room as he reclined back in his chair.

He felt numb. His headaches had subsided. His near-constant fever had become nigh unnoticeable. He felt numb every moment of the day. He was numb the moment he had spoken the words. At this point, he was scared to not feel numb.

Because there had been one terrible instant, that brief, horrifying instant, when the door had finally slammed behind her and it sunk in that she wasn’t coming back. Not to him. Not ever again. And in that one instant he felt like his chest was on fire and his head was a powder keg.

So numbness was preferable. Luckily there had been no War Table meeting that day. It was easy to just go through the motions. Write out this report, yell at that recruit. Walk through the training grounds; extend leg, place foot, transfer weight, repeat. He was good at that, going through the motions. Something he had picked up in Kirkwall.

It was for the best. He repeated that over and over and over in his head as he got up and walked to the window. For the best. He shook a flash of her tear-stained cheeks away from his memory.

It was for the best.

A soft knocking at the door found its way through his thoughts. Cullen turned, completely unperturbed by how late it was, and walked the fifteen steps to the door. He lifted his arm and opened it. Then all the air in his lungs poured out of his mouth.

He should have expected her. He should have known.

“Elin,” he greeted, tone dropping dismally in the second syllable. She stared at him with red rimmed eyes. The bruise under her left one had begun to fade. Her own breath clouded around her in frosty puffs. His heart hammered away in his chest.

“May I come in?” she asked, hopefully. Her shoulders shook with a violent shiver and what else was he supposed to do? Cullen stepped back and let her in.

Her long heavy cloak swept in the snow around her as she moved into the room. The tip of her nose was a bright pink from the impending winter air. Cullen had to stop himself from kissing it on pure instinct. Instead he mumbled something about not being prepared and apologized for not having a fire going even though he knew that she knew the exact reason why his rooms were always so cold.

“No, no,” she said. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry to catch you off guard, I just-”

Cullen waved away her apology and took a seat behind his desk. He would just will this into normalcy, he decided, and scratched at the back of his neck.

“Nonsense. You should still feel free to meet with the Commander of your Inquisition.”

“Oh, well, I was hoping we could, ehm…” Elin coughed and smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I was hoping we could talk about us. About what happened.”

The hammering in his chest became impossible to ignore. He needed to remember the numbness. Remember the years of judiciously deciding to not have feelings in an effort to make his duties easier. Cullen exhaled an even breath and looked at his rejected lover. The candlelight outlined her sable furs in burnt gold. Even through the shadows dancing upon her face, she looked tired. 

She stood quietly, patiently awaiting his response.

“Of course,” he answered. “We can discuss it if you believe it's necessary.”

Elin smiled, but her eyes were still dejected. They darted around to the dark corners of the candlelit room. A small sigh left her lips and her gaze dropped to the floor. Whatever words she wanted to say seemed to be too difficult to find. She hugged herself closer, her hands disappearing into the dense fur.

Finally, she took a big breath to steel herself and said, almost too quietly, “You left a few items in my room.”

She let the cloak drop to the floor in order to show him just what he had left. Everything that he had left. One of his favorite tunics hung off her, the hemline drooping over one freckled shoulder. It was cinched at her waist with his sturdy belt. And then those legs. Her legs were completely bare and naked to the winter air. Maybe he should have left a pair of trousers so she didn’t look so blasted cold. 

His breath caught in his throat. He wanted to warm her. He wanted to cover her in his body and make her sweat. He wanted to leave bite marks on her thighs as a warning against such a brazen act. 

And she must have noticed it, that want. She began to walk slowly toward him. When she leaned over his desk, the tunic spilled forward to display the tender flesh under it. Her eyes were dark with desire and hope. Thin fingers begged him as they brushed over the stubble at his jaw. 

“Should I take them off?” She husked.

Maker, how he wanted to forget those duties and crash his lips into the slender line of neck. 

Instead, he blinked. He balled his fist on his knees and squeezed it so hard, he could hear the leather stretch. 

“You can keep them,” he said in an even voice.

There was a pause as she licked her lips. If her resolve waivered, she didn’t show it. “You don’t mean that,” she purred. Wood groaned as she climbed atop his desk, swinging her legs around to dangle in front of him. Her closed-lipped smile was way too innocent.

He intended to only clear his throat, but it came out more as a growl. Cullen had spent so many months awake, grinding his teeth to forget one temptation, only to saddle himself with another. Did she know what she was doing? She had to realize that her presence could only bring torment. 

“Elin,” he ground out. “Don’t do this.”

That was it. The tell-tale twitch of her eyelid. The grimace disguised as a smile. A sheen set over her eyes.

“Please, Cullen, I know you don’t mean it.” she breathed, sliding down to the floor. She dropped to her knees in front of him and looked up into his face. “Please, you don’t.”

And she repeated that, “please you don’t you don’t”, as she laid her head in his lap.

For a second, he thought he might cave. His brow softened as he watched the jagged rise and fall of her shoulders. Memories of sunlight and her laugh and the sweet smell of apples worked into his bones. He found his fingers ghosting over the outline of her hair, knowing how silky it would be under his calluses. 

All this time he had thought that she was his shield, and now it was so obvious that Elin was another chink in his armor.

It was the black of his gloves against the white blonde of her hair that caught him. It looked so wrong. Far too harsh. Too much like the black he had felt in Sebastian’s soul when he learned of his wife’s death.

A muscle ticked along Cullen’s jaw. His nostrils flared. He wrapped his hand around around the arm of the chair and breathed and was numb. This wasn’t the first time a mage had supplicated themselves to him. Not the first time he had resisted these types of temptation.

It was the cold voice of a Templar that finally responded to her: “You should know that I always say what I mean.”

It surprised Cullen that she stilled so immediately. It shouldn’t have, but it did. She had only responded to the ice in his voice. It was the only thing that should have been expected, really.

So, calmly, she sat back on her heels. Quietly, she looked at the floor. Elin wiped the tears from her cheeks, though they continued to flow.

“I thought I could remind you.” She said red-faced, through tears and a smile. “How stupid of me.” Her words were hushed and simple, as though they were just a logical conclusion. Cullen knew that a better man would have corrected her. Consoled her. Cullen also knew that he was not nearly equipped to be that man.

Elin stood as he watched on, following her with a cold gaze as she stood up and readied herself for her expected egress. She picked up the sable furs and shook her head. He had bought her those furs so she would stop wearing his overcoat. And yet, he had always secretly hoped she would never stop wearing it. 

“How stupid of me,” she repeated, dropping the gifted furs to the floor. “How stupid how stupid how fucking stupid!”

She ripped at everything she wore, only barely pulling the shirt from the belt around her waist. The fabric thinned and tore at her fingertips. “How could you, Cullen!” She yelled, still wrenching and wrestling, hands still fumbling like the clothing were on fire. “I can’t believe I-I-” Her words were cut off by the clang of the belt buckle falling to the floor. “I trusted you!” 

Finally, she tore the shirt off. Finally, she wrapped her naked body in the furs and walked toward the door.

And, finally, she left.

Cullen did not chase after her.

\---

The door was still open when Cullen descended into his office the next morning. He strode to the door as quickly as he could without running. A pathetic effort to pretend like it didn’t bother him.

Cullen let his hand linger on the door after he slammed it. He had seen her leave so many times in the past few days. Watched frozen in place as she disappeared into the velvet black night so many times. He leaned his head against the frame. Something close to disgust churned in his gut.

But he told himself it was the cold. The chill of the newly closed door felt good against his skin. A few flurries still fluttered around the room. It made the office bearable, after a fitful and sweaty night’s sleep. Maker, if he could just- 

There was some sort of a crack and his fist was throbbing against the lentil. He was hitting things again. A flash of scared blue eyes seared across his mind and he had to open the door again if he want to stay upright. Cold, grey wind flooded through the door and brought air to his lungs as he opened it.

Cullen scrubbed a hand over his face and set out down the stairs toward the training grounds. The lyrium nightmares were back after a few months respite. All he could feel when he had laid down was the searing blue flames of the lyrium song. And whenever he closed his eyes, he could only she her. She was crusted in it. Encased and so peaceful. Like she had fallen asleep.

A few years ago, he would have thought that it was her fault. That she had been reaching out to him in his dreams. At least he had come far enough to know that wasn’t the case. This was all the lyrium’s doing. If she was smart, Elin Trevelyan would probably never want to see him again.

Eventually, he and Elin would need to learn to work together. But, hopefully that wouldn’t be today.

It wasn’t until he actually reached the training grounds that he realized he hadn’t told anyone of their parting. Out of habit, he decided that he didn’t need to tell anyone anything. If anyone needed to know, they would find out. 

Cullen was fine fine fine and if anyone wasn’t fine, then it was their fault.

A pair of heavy boots stomped up to Cullen’s field desk accompanied by an orchestra of heavy of breathing.

“Commander!” Jim exclaimed, in an effort to shout over the fact that he had just ran to the training grounds from Cullen’s office.

“Yes, Soldier?” Cullen laid his palms on the desk and leaned against them. A neat pile of paper stared back at him from under a paperweight. A claw Elin had salvaged from her first dragon kill and given to him. He had been terrified and proud. The vanguard ranks were still sitting there, waiting to be updated. He tugged them out to edit, barely registering that Jim was still lingering at his shoulder.

“Morning briefing, Commander.”

“On with it, Jim.”

Jim took one more big inhale and began rattling off about the scheduled training outside the wall. Cullen began scratching names off the ranks - soldiers he had lost at Adamant - while the recruit continued. It felt unceremonious, but he didn’t know what else to do about it.

“...So, in summation: Everyone is prepared for the drill to happen as planned at dusk.”

Cullen blinked and returned his attention to Jim. “No, that wasn’t the plan. We were supposed to leave at noon.”

“Uh, yes, Commander.” Jim scratched at his head. Or rather, he scratched at his helmet. “But they had to be changed.”

“Changed?” 

Jim took a flighty look around the training grounds and inhaled through his open mouth. “B-because the Inquisitor is leaving through the front gates, I’m sorry Commander I thought I-”

“The Inquisitor has not been approved to go anywhere.” Cullen stated dumbly, trying to make sense of Jim’s information.

“I just know what she told me.”

“What she told you?” Without thinking, Cullen turned and advanced on the soldier. He curled his fingers under the other man’s breastplate and jerked him forward. “Where is she going.” Cullen was close enough that the stage whisper sounded as loud as any command yelled across the field.

“I don’t-”

“When did she tell you of this.” These were not questions. These were statements requiring answers.

“This morning-”

“When was I to be briefed.”

Jim’s eyes widened under Cullen’s glare. “Commander, I-I just-”

“And where is she now.”

“Um, the gates? Readying to leave now.” Jim closed his left eye, still waiting to be interrupted.

The Commander snapped Jim to the side and let go, quickly stepping out from behind him. Jim took a moment to steady himself before turning to watch the larger man stalk down the hill toward the gates. He stood there for a moment just trying to figure out what the hell he did wrong.

As Cullen made his way down the hill, he could see a small retinue at the gates. Four horses and four people getting ready to mount them. Various other Skyhold workers were zipping around, appearing with this and that at the rider’s behest.

There was a reason why the advisors had all decided that she should stay at Skyhold to recover until Halamshiral. It was smart. Elin had even agreed to the plan, without a second’s hesitation. She had told him later that she was actually grateful for the forced rest. This was a snap decision, at best. He knew that she was hurting, but she should know that being in such a state makes it a terrible time to make decisions. And a good way to get hurt. Or worse... 

And it wasn’t just seeing Elin there, her best horse ready for travel, that made his blood boil. It was seeing both Josie and Leliana at the foot of the hill that really made him want to yell the walls to the ground.

“What is going on here?” Cullen shouted as he drew closer. Nearly everyone stilled immediately, only moving to turn toward Cullen with looks of intermittent surprise and confusion. Dorian had the decency to drop whatever package was in his hands. Elin and Solas were the only ones who didn’t turn to see Cullen’s approach. She didn’t need to. She knew who it was. Solas simply continued saddling his horse.

Josephine placed a hand on her hips and wheeled back around to stare into Elin’s back. The diplomat's fine shoes looked ruined by the mulch of autumn leaves and mud littering the ground. “Well, Commander,” she began, “it seems the Inquisitor has taken it upon herself to disregard all of our plans and go to some ‘Forgotten Oasis’ to look at glass.”

Elin let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders falling before she craned her neck to look at the advisors. Purple smudges stood out underneath her glassy eyes. “I’m going to investigate the shards at the Forbidden Oasis, Josephine. The information could be useful to Solas’ research.”

The elf in question leaned his forearms on the saddle he had just secured. Solas was taller than most elves Cullen had met, making his infuriating face perfectly visible. “It will be quite useful.” Solas assured, a light smile ghosting over his lips and amusement honing his gaze.

Luckily, Cullen had hardly noticed Solas’ comment. His eyes had not left Elin since she had come into view. “Whatever it is, it can wait. We returned from Adamant less than a week ago. You need to rest before we leave for Halamshiral. If you throw yourself into battle before you’re ready, you could jeopardize everything.”

He wasn’t even finished speaking before she had returned to adjusting the saddle’s garter belt. Her traveling cloak danced along in the breeze. “I can take care of myself,” she muttered.

“That is not what is in question, Inquisitor. The question is if you should take such an unnecessary risk.” Josie’s accent sounded too delicate in the mountain grey air.

“I appreciate your concern, but I will be fine.”

There was a moment of silence while she continued. Josie shot Cullen a look that said that she clearly expected him to correct the situation. When Cullen did nothing but open his mouth and close it, Leliana took a step forward.

“Why don’t you let someone take the horses while we go back to the War Room and discuss this?”

“No.” Elin said in a calm voice. “I can make my own decisions, thank you.”

Dorian walked around the hindquarters of his own horse. “Perhaps Leliana is right. Lets just take a second to discuss this. You wouldn’t want to mess up that face of yours before meeting the Empress of Orlais.”

Without missing a beat, Elin moved to arranging her bedroll. The horse swayed under her ministrations. “Dorian,” a quiet note of irritation hung in her voice, “if you are worried about the journey, don’t come.” 

An inaudible sigh of defeat filtered through the spectators. Leliana watched stone faced as Josie buried her face in her hands. Dorian dropped his gaze to his feet and the Iron Bull just winced. From the square in Elin’s stance to the steel in her voice, it was clear that Elin meant to walk out of those gates and put herself in danger, even if it appeared to be no reason.

Cullen gritted his teeth. "We're not going to approve this expedition without discussion."

Elin threw a saddlebag over her horse's withers. "I don't care," she snarled as she continued working.

“Elin.” Cullen said in his most commanding tone. “Stop.”

She obeyed immediately, slamming down the saddlebags with a huff. Even the horse shifted its weight in surprise. She stared at the ground, still refusing to look at him. A moment ticked by, then another. Then she shook her head violently.

“No.” She said, finally turning to meet his gaze in full. There was a fire in her eyes that Cullen had never seen before. Well, a fire that had never been leveled at him. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I don’t want to listen to you anymore. I’m not staying in Skyhold for a second longer. I’m going.”

In a swirl of fabric, Elin gripped the pommel of the saddle and mounted her horse in one swift motion. With an imperceptible nudge of her heels, she was off, thundering through gates and away. Solas wasn’t far behind.

Pinpricks of heated stares pierced Cullen's heated skin. Everyone's eyes were on him. Dorian’s mouth hung open as he looked back at Cullen. It seemed like the mage was actually unsure of what to say. Bull took the lead, giving Cullen a sagely nod and a resolved, “We’ll keep an eye on her.” Then, in another flurry of hooves, they were gone.

\---

That night, in the quiet of his empty room, Cullen wrote a letter. It was addressed to Inquisitor Trevelyan, but it was meant for his love.

When he sat down, he started to write about his frustration. About his anger that she would let personal issues and a petty play for power put herself in danger. He told her that it was completely unbelievable, totally unacceptable that she would possibly upset everything they had worked toward in order to… What? Follow a hedge mage’s hunch?

He was angry at her and he was angry at her choices and he was angry at himself. And he was sorry, so so sorry. Maker, how sorry he was that he had allowed her to get close enough to him that he could hurt her. He wrote about how selfish he was. About how she deserved someone who wasn’t built for war. He told her about the fear he saw in Prince Vael’s eyes and the blackness that Cullen felt and how it would consume him if she.... If she… Should she...

Fuck. He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He wrote that her loved her. 

He wrote that nothing would ever change that.

Then he lit the letter on fire and dropped it to the floor. He watched as it burned, so small, in the moonlit dark of his room. It burned and twisted and dissolved into ash on the floor.

He told himself that it was necessary. That if he would have sent it, she would have had every shred of his heart that she needed to salvage their relationship. He would be putty in her hands if she knew all of those things.

But really he wasn’t scared of what would happen if he sent that letter and she returned. He wasn’t really scared that she would take all the secrets that he had spent the last few days trying to hide from her and use them to win him back.

He was scared that she wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone still interesting in seeing how this plays out :)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, y'all. That was heavy.


End file.
